On the Mantle
by Mrs Dionysius O'Gall
Summary: Post episode for 6.12, Just Like Gwen and Gavin
1. Returning

The evening was ending quietly for Luke, and he decided to close early. No point in keeping open when practically everyone was at the Festival, and that Festival had food and drink, and that Festival...had Lorelai.

He wondered how she was doing. Would she ever talk to him again? She said she'd need time, somewhere away from the diner.

Panic took up its familiar residence in his chest. What if she ran away? Like the time with Max? (Or, he thought wryly, without Max.) He smacked the rag down on the edge of the counter in fury. What if she never wanted to speak with him again? How could he have been so careless? He wracked his brain, trying to think about who'd been in the diner when IT happened. It--the innocent encounter between the two most important people in his life. No one, and certainly not Lorelai, deserved public humiliation. He wouldn't even do something like that to Taylor, for god sake. He thought that the look on Lorelai's face as she so clearly struggled to maintain her dignity in front of April, in front of him, and in front of the town would stay with him forever.

Slap! He wrung out the rag one last time. Way to go, he thought. Way to replace the most beautiful memory he had of the diner--her face just as she proposed to him--with the look of undiluted pain and shock as she realized he was not the man he'd posed as. Nope, he certainly wouldn't blame her if she ran, drove, flew, whatever, as far away from him as she could.

That old feeling of panic, the one so familiar over the last two months, tightened its grip around his heart, his gut, his balls...

Unbidden, a thought percolated to the forefront. 'Show her,' it said. 'You're a man of action, not words,' it mocked. 'Always be a man,' his father's voice interjected, 'Take responsibility for your actions.' 'Be kind to women and children,' his mother's gentle but firm voice chimed in.

But that's what I was doing, Mom, he thought.

Surely, if Lorelai'd run off, and not shown up at the Festival, someone would have shown up at the diner to ask about her. Wouldn't they?

Unless, people already knew about April...and were wearing pink and blue ribbons again...if pink won last year, he could only imagine the pink landslide that would come out of this debacle. He looked out across the street to the square, noisy and crowded and full. Maybe he should just head on upstairs, give April a goodnight phone call, and hope for the best as far as Lorelai was concerned.

Lorelai. Upstairs. Guiltily, he remembered the last time he'd waited and wondered if she'd come to the diner to seek him out. He was worse than a hypocrite, he thought. Of course, he hadn't known that he would be the one keeping secrets at the time--how did that saying go? 'How the mighty hath fallen,' he recalled. His mother's voice returned: 'Pride comes before a fall, Lucas...' she'd told him after some childhood transgression. He'd stalked off, and Lorelai'd been forced to come over to the diner and basically seek out his forgiveness, when it should have been the other way around.

Maybe it was all for the best. He'd go back to being Luke Danes, Table for One, well more like One-and-a-half now with April. And Lorelai wouldn't have to be with someone who treated her in such a jerk-like way. Yep, maybe it would be for the best if Lorelai just left. Then, there would be no way in hell he could ever hurt her again. He'd been so awful, that it would be easy for her to get over this, wouldn't it? People are resilient, he thought. Look at him. He got over the whole sock-man infidelity thing...

'Hell, who are you kidding?' his father's voice interjected. 'When things get tough, you make it work.'

-----

A half-hour later, Luke re-entered the diner. He'd gone over to the Festival to see if Lorelai was still in town. As he approached her booth, he breathed a sigh of deep relief. She was there! Plus, he rationalized, she couldn't be feeling too bad if she was out facing the public.

Of course, everyone was there. Rory, Lane, even the damn dog. Luke, his father's voice ringing in his ears, approached Lorelai.

"We can make it work," Lorelai'd said. Why did that make him feel worse? He'd expected tears, screaming, recriminations, accusations. Instead, she'd been a saint, even freely offered to postpone her dream of a wedding. That emboldened him to test the waters and lean in for a quick kiss. He'd gotten not just two, but also one of her trademark quips, and she'd readily agreed to come over.

The ringing phone interrupted his thoughts.

"Hey."

Lorelai.

"Back atcha. Still coming over?"

Silence. Uh oh.

"Uh, I'm at the house. Rory had to go back to Yale tonight..."

"Tonight?" Luke responded, looking over at the alarm clock.

"Some problem with the newspaper..."

"Ah."

She still hadn't answered his question.

"So..." Lorelai continued.

"So?" Luke parroted.

"Can you...come here?"

Her voice was so small.

"In a heartbeat," Luke replied.

At least ten thousand crushing tons of despair miraculously were lifted off his chest by her invitation. His mind reeled as he swept his eyes around the apartment. She was letting him back in. Into her house. At night. His best friend. The woman he loved.

------

Only a few lights were on inside as he entered the house.

"Lorelai?" he called out. "I'm ho...here..."

He was careful not to assume anything. He'd let her take the lead.

"Turn off the lights, Hon, and c'mon up," she called down from upstairs.

Another ten thousand crushing tons of despair lifted off his chest when he processed what she'd just said (and implied.) He'd fully expected that if she even deigned to keep him in her life, that it would be a cold day in hell before he'd be allowed inside her bedroom again.

Stepping into the living room, he walked over to toward the fireplace, so he could turn off the overhead lighting.

Something caught his eye. Something was different about the room.

Ah, the mantle. The photos looked rearranged.

Panic struck. Maybe she'd gotten rid of his photo, and the photos of them together, him, her and Rory?

Nope. Those were still there. Except, they were now in the middle of the display. He walked over in front of the fireplace and picked up the frame holding their post-engagement photo. Kirk'd insisted on taking one. Replacing the frame, he noticed that the entire right side of the mantle was now covered with photos of Rory.

No wonder the mantle looked unbalanced. To the left of their joint photos, were his photos. A couple of Liz and Jess. And then, some index cards.

'April,' read one card, written in Lorelai's script.

'April and Luke,' read another.

And then, one that had somehow fallen to the floor. 'All of us.'

He picked it up and placed it in the center of the mantle, then turned off the light.

That night was the first night he climbed the stairs three at a time. 


	2. Seeking

That night was the first night he climbed the stairs three at a time.

She'd left the double doors to the room open. That had to be a good sign, he hoped. His heart beat erratically as he walked into their bedroom, closing the door behind him. Yes, she'd called for him to come upstairs, but maybe it was only to hand him a pillow and blanket and send him packing. She'd sounded welcoming, and the cards on the mantle had showed him that she was OK with the idea of April as part of their family, but still…the look on her face in the diner...

Luke looked at his left hand. He was still holding the card he'd picked up from the floor in front of the fireplace. After this, how could he not love her more than ever? He thought about his life. Infused with color and happiness for the first ten years, then came the darkness with occasional grey. Intermittent flashes of color when Rachel and Anna passed through his life, then back to darkest grey. Over the next few years, splashes of bright color appeared, becoming more frequent. Quick splashes, flashes really at first, and in the past year-and-a-half, it was all color, all the time. All because of Lorelai.

He glanced towards the bed. Immediately, he noticed that she was not in it. The bed, still covered with the fluffy white comforter Lorelai'd chosen because "it wasn't too girly" and "would go with anything plaid you have" loomed large in front of him. The lighting in the room was muted, but warm. Paul Anka already lolled about on his little doggy bed.

Luke remembered the last night he'd spent in this bed, his mind wandering to the previous night. They'd been awoken at 3:12 AM by the tolling of the damn bells. Wasn't that the name of one of Lorelai's favorite classic movies? Or was it one of Jess's books? Ironic, he thought, that the clamor had roused him from the most mundane of dreams. He'd been car shopping, for a family car of all things. Of course! He'd need something to transport April and her friends around the area. Of course, in the case of her science experiment, that was one huge display and they'd have to cart something like that around in the truck, he mused. In his dream, he'd left Lorelai at the house; all she'd requested was that he not buy a Volvo and if the car could be purple or bright yellow, she'd show him how happy she was by "initiating" the car...

But the damn bells' clangor had interrupted his car buying, and with that, a night of sound sleep. He and Lorelai had settled into a routine; he supposed all couples eventually did that. Although neither would ever admit it out loud, they were unable to sleep unless they were in physical contact. Often, just their toes would touch, but Luke's favorite was to gather her close and protectively place his arm across her body. Especially after sex.

Now with sex, there was some poetic justice, he mused. Ever since he'd started keeping his deep dark secret, their sex life had seemingly gone to hell. Lorelai had noticed, jokingly referring to him as "Mr. Saturday morning" in what he assumed was a blatant reference to the scarcity of times they'd made love since Thanksgiving. Luckily for him, Lorelai herself was so preoccupied with wedding plans and with Rory's return, that she probably didn't notice as much as she otherwise might have.

He'd of course recently experienced many sleepless nights. The bonus was that he loved watching her sleep. It was during the times that he watched her, that he mostly thought about the whole April situation. During the day, Lorelai was often a whirlwind of giddy bride-to-be, mocking girlfriend, sensible businesswoman, and just plain old crazy caffeine-seeking addict. But sleep calmed her, and he would often look at her and try to imagine what she would have been like had her life been different: no kid at sixteen, not that he begrudged the existence of Rory at all. He wondered what his life would have been like had he known about April from the get-go.

As he reminisced, Luke took off his jacket, then sat down on his side of the bed, pulling off his shoes and socks. That done, he gently placed the card on the nightstand.

"Lorelai?" he inquired.

He heard a splash, and a sluggishly said "Tub."

Ah, she was taking a bath.

He walked towards the bathroom and stopped at the door, which was slightly ajar. Should he knock?

"Just me taking a bath with Ryan Seacrest," she giggled.

Huh?

He took a single step into the bathroom. And then another.  
She giggled again. A wet leg emerged from the cloud of bubbles nestled on top of the water; her wet foot tapped a container at the edge of the tub.

"Sea-cret. Seacrest. Get it? It's a brand of scrub. Straight from the Dead Sea."

"Oh yeah?" Luke replied, moving towards the jar, picking it up, and studying its label. "Probably just table rock salt with a fancy label on it…" he added.

She pouted her annoyance at him, and the leg, with its delicately pointed toe, disappeared back underneath the bubble cloud.

He stood rooted to his spot on the floor, and quietly looked at her.

The sight in front of him both reassured and stunned him. Reassured him because if she was letting him see her like this, it meant he was still her guy in some way. The scene also stunned him because, well, the nude beauty before him was breathtaking. As sporadic clouds of bubbles floated on and skimmed the water's surface, they gently moved, revealing then concealing, revealing then concealing. As his eyes swept across her body from foot to head, his body began to react, so he focused his attention on her face.

Her head rested gracefully on a rolled-up towel, her eyes closed, her hair swept up in a high ponytail. He wanted nothing more than to undo that ponytail, and fan her hair out around her face, then gently wash her from head to toe.

Instead, he just stood there.

"So, quiet night at the diner?" she murmured after a beat, eyes still closed.

"Yeah," Luke replied, staring down at the tops of his feet. He desperately wanted to touch her, to take off his shirt and clasp her wet body against his, to run his hands down the slickness of her back, to slick back her hair and kiss her, but wasn't sure if he merited the privilege.

He had a real problem, he thought. He loved everything about her, everything around her, just as she was presented before him, from the tip of her toes to the top of her head. He loved her, even every word she said that drove him insane with annoyance...Everything.

The silence was so overwhelming, that he swore he could hear the bubbles in the tub popping…

"I won't break, you know," her still, quiet voice pointed out, her eyes finally open.

He raised his eyes to meet hers.

"C'mere," she whispered, inclining her chin in his direction.

He moved to the edge of the tub, pushing the sleeves of his flannel up to his elbows. Kneeling at the tub's edge, he folded his arms and leaned forward.

Her eyes were once more closed as she tilted her chin upward.

He held his breath, so close to her.

"I'm not exactly waiting for my close-up, Burger-Boy!"

"Lorelai, I'm so sorry," he began.

"Shhhh," she whispered.

Before he could react, a slick, wet hand shot up out of the water and grabbed his shirt close to the collar.

TBC… 


	3. Inquiring

Before he could react, a slick, wet hand shot up out of the water and grabbed his shirt close to the collar.

"Luke," Lorelai's voice was suddenly tremulous. "Why don't you trust me?"

He softly replied, "What?" His voice was quiet, incredulous, and wondering, as his right hand covered her smaller hand at his collar. His left arm instinctively encircled her shoulders, wet though she was.

She slipped her hand out from underneath his, sat up in the tub, and forlornly drew her knees together, wrapping her arms around them. Head bowed, looking away from him, she repeated, "Why don't you trust me?"

"Of course I do. I trust you," he responded, his hand now rhythmically stroking up and down her back.

Luke didn't understand her muffled reply to his statement of trust. At the same time, he did not dare ask her to repeat herself. Silence descended upon them like a heavy tarp, Luke thought. The silence in the bathroom was punctuated by the drip, drip, drip of water from the tap.

"Of course I do," Luke repeated, as he reached over to the faucet, and tightened it, making a mental note to check out and fix the cause of the drip later.

Lorelai began to cry.

Ah, finally, Luke thought, here it comes. The accusations, the expressions of pain. He took a quick breath, realizing he would have to let her work through this, no matter how painful it would be for him.

The last time he'd seen her like this, her name was Mimi. He'd made her a promise that time, he recalled.

Muffled sounds, sounds he couldn't understand, mingled with her sobs.

Luke stroked her back, up and down and up again. Down and up and down and...

"No, you don't," Lorelai finally responded, a little more coherently. "You promised. You made me promise. I did. To tell each other everything..."

Her body shook.

"And then you didn't...tell me...about..."

"April," Luke supplied, continuing to stroke her back, up and down and up again. "I know. I'm sorry..."

"Sorry? Sorry? Sorry? Sorry?" Lorelai added, her voice quieter with each 'sorry'. "We promised, Luke..." she whispered.

Her body shook even more. Luke noticed that the water had gotten cold. He had to get her out of the tub and into something warm.

Reaching above Lorelai and him, he yanked a fluffy bath towel off the towel rack and then gently coaxed her to a standing position. He could barely look at her, huddled, arms crossed, face averted, shivering. Wrapping the towel around her as she passively stood, obviously still quietly crying, he slowly dried her, and then with a whispered "Careful..." helped her step out of the tub.

He tucked the edges of the towel so it would stay secure, and gently guided her to sit at the edge of the tub.

"Where's your robe?" he asked, kneeling in front of her, holding both her hands in his.

"Closet," she answered, sniffling, reaching her arm out in the direction of the vanity.

Wordlessly, Luke handed her a tissue, then went into the bedroom to the closet. Without thinking, he opened the closet doors.

And there it was. The perfect dress. Confronting him, accusing him. He had seen her in it and ruined everything.

Luke's hand seemed to have a mind of its own as it reached out and fingered one of the delicate beads. Tracing the outline of a flower, her remembered how beautiful his bride looked in that dress. His bride. Bride-to-be. He traced the outline of another flower. The next time he was to see this dress, it was supposed to be mere hours before he would take it off her. No way would it be demurely hanging in a closet. Luke closed his eyes, imagining that moment, ripping that dress off her, just this side of careful. His hand moved to the skirt; he was about to stroke the fabric of the skirt when he heard the tinkle of metal. Looking down, he saw Paul Anka, who'd awoken. The dog looked up at him with accusing eyes.

Et tu, Paulie? The robe, right.

Opposite the dress, Lorelai's soft plush Dragonfly Inn robe was hanging on its hook (for a change, he thought, instead of flung on the floor!) He grabbed it and closed the closet doors.

Paul Anka followed him to the bathroom, but stopped short of entering. Lorelai sat still at the tub's edge, wrapped in her towel. Luke approached her, holding the robe open for her, inviting her to wrap herself in it.

At least she wasn't crying anymore.

"Come, let's get you to bed, Lorelai," Luke urged.

Any other time, she'd have retorted with a quip or a Dirty! Tonight, she just passively acceded to his request, allowing him to guide her out of the bathroom towards their bed.

Again, the silence expanded to fill the room.

Say something, a voice deep inside Luke urged.

"We'll talk tomorrow, or whenever you want," he assured her as he helped her onto their bed. "You did take your contacts out, right?"

She nodded, sitting at the edge of the bed.

"I'll be right back," he assured. "Do you want your glasses?"

Lorelai shook her head, no.

------

After he'd gotten ready for bed, he turned to find Lorelai still wrapped in her robe on the edge of the bed.

"Should I get you something to change into?" he asked.

"Hold me," was Lorelai's reply, as she stood, slightly swaying, her feet unsteady.

Luke was immediately in front of her, catching her as she swayed. Lorelai's arms shot out and wrapped around him. As he held her, Luke unfastened her ponytail and ran one hand through her hair.

"I love you, Lorelai," Luke assured her. "More than you will ever know."

"I know," she replied.

She let him softly kiss her on top of her head, and did not protest when he tipped her chin to him, and gently kissed her mouth.

Luke helped Lorelai into bed, and seeing that Paul Anka had already returned to his doggy bed, climbed into bed himself.

Again, the awkward silence. She was on her back, staring up at the ceiling. He was on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

Luke swallowed, tried to take a deep breath, and wiggled his fingers over towards where he hoped Lorelai's hand was.

To his immense relief, Lorelai allowed him to take her hand in his.

"I hate her..." her quiet voice suddenly declared.

Luke was confused. She hated April?

"Not...April...whoever her mom is...Not telling you...hurting you like this..."

"Don't. It's what it is."

"April's here."

"Yes."

"And she's yours."

Luke squeezed her hand in response.

"We'll make it work, Luke."

"I know."

Silence, once again.

Luke lay still, holding Lorelai's hand, trying to sleep.

The silence continued to smother them.

After some time, Lorelai slipped her hand out from under his, then took his hand in hers and silently placed it on her robe's tie belt. Slowly, she worked his fingers over the knot, indicating that she wanted him to untie it.

"Are you sure?"

"Shut up and untie me!"

TBC 


	4. Healing

"Shut up and untie me!"

Luke did not hesitate. Giving the tie a resolute tug, the robe fell slightly, tantalizingly open.

The room was dark, with only the softest moonlight filtering across them through the windows. In spite of his best intentions, his eyes raked hungrily over her body; she noticed and didn't run screaming from the room. And for the first time since the terrible events of the previous morning, he felt some hope. Turning on his side, propped up on his elbow to face her, he took a deep breath to gather some self-control, then asked while idly toying with one end of the robe's belt, "Are you sure?"

And for the first time since the terrible events of the previous morning, she turned to him and smiled, albeit tentatively, at him.

Still, he wanted to be sure. His index finger slowly traced up along the edge of the robe's opening, from her belly to her throat, offering her time, just in case.

"I don't do this for just anybody, mister!" she quipped, and impatiently, she herself fully parted the robe so that she lay completely open and exposed to him.

His voice caught in his throat. There was so much he wanted to say, but that was not his way. With the light still softly shining across her, Luke saw that her eyes were now shining with clarity, not tears, and he realized what she was doing: showing him that she trusted him. In spite of what he'd done. That she still loved him, was still Lorelai, was still his.

Slowly, he approached her, fully intending to lavish her with kisses from head to toe. He placed a soft kiss over her belly button, and then began to kiss his way up to her breasts. Reaching them, he ran his tongue around one nipple, then blew on it, drawing back to watch as it became tighter. "God, Lorelai," he murmured, still awed that he had this ability to make her react to him, as he turned his attention to the other breast. He spent several minutes there, before moving upward to her throat, then her mouth.

When he reached her mouth, her arms, still in the robe's sleeves, snaked out around his neck and drew him closer to her. With equal fervor, she kissed him back, gently.

Pausing to take a breath, Luke softly stroked her hair, then helped her out of the robe's sleeves. Lorelai slowly lay back down, but not before insistently tugging at his t-shirt, which Luke promptly removed. He then paused to fan her hair out like a cloud around her.

No one would call Lorelai Gilmore an angel. Yet at that moment, to Luke Danes, that's what she was.

Luke's hand seemed to have a mind of its own as it reached out and again fingered one of her delicate nipples. Tracing the outline of one breast, he remembered how beautiful he thought she was the first time that she allowed him to touch her like this. And now, he was lucky enough to be allowed to do this again, to still do this. He traced the outline of her other breast. His mind wandered to the dress, and their future wedding night. He hoped she wasn't planning a long reception because there was no way that he'd be able to keep his hands off her. For the second time that night, Luke closed his eyes, imagining that moment, ripping that dress off her, just this side of careful. His hand moved lower, across her soft belly, and downward; he was about to stroke the vee between her legs when he heard her soft voice.

This voice was one she never used in public, one she reserved only for their most personal moments. And because it was so quiet, so different from her normal exuberant voice, he paid attention.

"Did you mean it?" she asked. "The night we got engaged..."

He hated it when she brought up minutiae from the past. It was a special hell that women seemed to inflict upon men. But tonight, he would be patient. Tonight, he could be patient. It was all about helping her, helping them, start to heal.

"I meant everything," he said, with a smile, then turned serious. "Mean what?" he countered.

"The kids," she replied, "the kids you want that I said would be nice."

"Yes," he answered without hesitation.

"Even with April?" she probed, her voice now hesitant and less confident.

"When I asked about the kids, I meant it," Luke replied. "Kids with you. Or kid. One kid. Or...well we've done the furniture thing," he ruefully continued.

"I'm not getting any younger, Luke, and with this postponement..."

Damn. He'd screwed up again.

"Can we have a discussion later?" Lorelai asked. "Soon?"

"You bet," Luke responded as Lorelai took his hand and placed it against the soft skin of her belly.

"Please, Luke..."

How could Luke refuse her any request? He rolled on top of her, supporting his weight on his elbows, and kissed and nibbled at the sensitive spot just under her ear. He then returned his attention to her mouth, and smiled into her mouth when he felt her tongue dart up between his teeth, returning his actions in kind as she explored his mouth as if she had never done so before. At first, they kissed each other ever so lightly, as though each was afraid that the other might break. But just like Luke, Lorelai could not ignore the feelings suffusing her body, nor could she ignore the thick, hard evidence of his need for her, probing between her thighs.

And there was only one thing she could think of at that moment: feeling him inside her.

"Luke...I need..." she gasped, as his fingers swirled and pushed and swirled and caused a sweet throbbing within her.

"Need you...Luke."

And then it was time for her to reach over to the nightstand. His hand moved from the side of her hip to stop her as she reached for the foil packet.

"Told you it would be a short discussion," he said, as he pushed the tip of himself into her.

Luke made love to her so gently, so tenderly, watching her reaction, making it all about her. As Lorelai's passion grew, he inhaled her breath, tasted her skin, and savored her. Not for the first time, he felt like he could spend forever exploring her, yet not ever fully know her. "Beautiful," he told her. "So, so beautiful," as he thrust deeply into her.

-----

Settling into bed, with the woman he loved in his arms, sleep on its way, Luke suddenly sat up and reached over to the nightstand.

"Whatcha doin'?" she asked, already half-asleep.

"Setting the alarm clocks," he replied. "The usual time for you tomorrow?"

"Yeah. Sookie and I have an appointment at the flower mart…"

He winced.

"Need to postpone the order…"

There was something else on the nightstand.

"Thank you," he murmured.

"'S no problem," she answered.

"For this." He pressed the index card that belonged on the mantle into her hand. "All of us."

They would make it work. 


End file.
